


giggling again for no reason (everybody talks too much)

by openmouthwideeye



Series: West Eros High [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openmouthwideeye/pseuds/openmouthwideeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a whisper . . .</p><p>Brienne is strong armed into attending a slumber party. Facing a bear would probably be easier. It would certainly hurt less.</p><p>*written for a prompt by goldstraw at Jaime-Brienne Online</p>
            </blockquote>





	giggling again for no reason (everybody talks too much)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldstraw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstraw/gifts).



> Well, I can't say I've never thought about a JB in high school fic, but I never really thought I'd actually do it. I suppose I still haven't, as Jaime does not make an appearance in this fic and its not technically set in school, but it's probably close enough to count. And now I've got the bug, drat it all.
> 
> Enough apologies cannot be penned, basically. But I hope it's entertaining nonetheless.

Brienne was wedged uncomfortably between the corner and the desk, trying to blend into the wallpaper. It’s delicate rose-and-lemon print clashed jarringly with her faded navy t-shirt, but for a wonder no one seemed to notice. Maybe it was the bedazzled laptop that helped hide the bits of her too large to hunker behind the mahogany office set.

Brienne glanced around the room and saw six girls as airy and delicate as the pillows they lounged on.

“Sweetie, _work_ your colors,” Margaery rolled her eyes, batting the eye-dust from the grip of West Eros High’s freshman cheerleader and replacing it with a jar of her own.

The colors were indistinguishable to Brienne.

“Gingers are hot right now.”

“You think so?”

 _Yup_ , Brienne thought, pulling her eyes from Sansa’s small, sweet smile to the dull glimmer of pink rhinestones on Sansa’s macbook, _definitely the computer_.

“Ooh, Sansa,” Jeyne piped up from beneath the babble of conversation. “Sansa, sweetie, try the brown top. It’ll make your freckles pop.”

Jeyne hadn’t realized that Sansa’s popularity was admit one. Brienne knew how much it would suck when she got the memo.

“Freckles should be delicate,” Mel said breezily from her spot on the floor, curled up with the Magic 8-Ball Jeyne had brought, which Cersei had promptly turned into a joke. “ _Mysterious_.”

Brienne winced. Brown, black, or blue, no color sweater would ever disguise her freckles. In hockey season they were apparent at best. Once football practice started, she’d have tan splotches across half her face.

“Pop _mysteriously_ ,” Jeyne tried.

Sansa half-smiled while Brienne tried again to squish herself further into the corner.

She had deposited herself there when Mrs. Stark had shown her in three long hours ago, and hadn’t moved since.

Sansa’s mom was cool, but kind of unrealistic. She was in Junior League with Cersei’s stepmom, who seemed to know from Jaime that Brienne didn’t have many girlfriends.

Or any.

So when Arya had hitched a ride with Brienne after hockey practice, Mrs. Stark had all but strong-armed the older girl into the house.

“We’ll find you an old shirt of Robb’s to wear, it’ll be fun,” she had promised.

Like this whole slumber party thing was going to end in anything but disaster.

Brienne wished, not for the first time, that she had stayed late for suicide skates with the boys who’d been late for practice.

 _Jaime Lannister showed up late_ , a part of her brain whispered.

 _Of course he did, he’s an ass who couldn’t keep a promise if someone’s life depended on it._  
  
That didn’t stop her from conjuring an image of Jaime after practice, tugging the jersey up over his head. He never paid attention when the pads caught his clothes . . .

“Cersei,” Sansa squealed, half awed, half disgusted. Brienne was startled out of her daydream; the story she was dumped into made her want to wash her brain with bleach.

“You _did not_ hook up with _all three_ of the Kettleblacks.”

 _Right_. Brienne remembered. She had caught Jaime hooking up with his stepsister in the locker room on her second night as first-string. That had put an end to her hero-worship in a hurry. No matter how beautifully had had boarded Ron Connington after word leaked about Brienne’s disastrous date last year.

Cersei was playing coy.

“Who’s to say?”

Her eyes spoke volumes, though, and they said things Brienne wanted no part of.

“I’m sure that went over really well with _King Bob_ ,” Margaery’s smile might have said any number of things, none of which Brienne could translate. “I hope they taught Joff not to fall on his ass whenever he tries to skate and watch a puck at the same time.”

“You wouldn’t . . .” Sansa sounded uncertain and oddly fascinated.

“Oh please, she’d hook up with Ian Payne if he’d play her little brother Joffrey more,” Mel joked.

Cersei threw her a dark look. The assistant coach was in tight with her dad and her step-brother, but he’d never said a word to her. Cercei apparently took it personally.

 _You don’t need words when you’re that good with a puck._  
  
Not that these girls would understand that.

Cersei’s friend Tae cackled.

“Cersei’d hook up with _that_ if it meant Joff got to play.”

It took Brienne a moment to realize that _she_ was the ungodly creature in question.

“Doesn’t she wish,” Cersei smiled the sort of smile that Brienne read with ease.

Her face turned bright red.

“She does!” Jeyne latched on, falling sideways in a fit of giggles.

“That’s not-“ Brienne’s throat was dry. “I’m not-“

The giggles pitched higher, and the echo of laughter multiplied to the _n_ th degree.

“I bet she just longs for you, Cersei,” Tae went on, trailing her fingers along her friend’s leg. “Surrounded by all those _boys_ , and dreaming of nothing but _girls_.”

Sansa scrunched her nose.

Brienne wanted nothing more than to bolt for the door.

She was rooted to the floor. Just like when Red Ron gave her his bouquet of dead roses, or Kyle Hunt kissed her, then pushed his camcorder into her face.

She was always the punchline.

Margaery snorted, and it was enough to disrupt the glee of the girls who were watching Brienne silently spiral.

“What,” Cersei demanded, “is so funny?”

Margaery made a show of smiling at her.

“Cersei, sweetie, have you ever actually talked to Brie?”

Cersei looked affronted, and Tae spoke up.

“Like she would talk to Brienne the Beauty. Besides, it’s not like boys have to talk to her before wanting to shove a hand up her skirt.”

“If you had,” Margaery continued airily, “you’d know she has about as much interest in girls as-“ she made a show of looking at Tae, then scooted her eyes to a different target, “well, Mel.”

“Keep that mystery far from me,” Mel added helpfully.

Cersei looked annoyed and entirely unconvinced, but Brienne could breathe again.

“You two are friends?” Sansa asked quietly, looking from the blonde to the brunette and back.

“No, but she did have a monster crush on my brother’s boyfriend.”

The room seemed to gasp as one, and Brienne wanted to sink into the floor again.

“Gaydar much?”

“You did not have the hots for Renly No-Straight-Man-Has-Hair-This-Good Baratheon.”

“He wears Chanel, for goodness sake.”

“Ladies,” they fell silent as Cersei spoke.

It must be a cheer captain thing.

“Don’t tease poor -” she scrunched her stunning features, making a show of thinking.

Brienne knew Cersei knew her name, since she was the one who orchestrated the _pop Brie’s cherry before semi-finals_ bet. And it’s not like Brienne didn’t spend a week giving her and Jaime rides from practice when their dad took away Jaime’s Range Rover last fall.

“- _Brienne_ just because she doesn’t have much experience with men. It’s hardly her fault they find her unappealing.”

And Cersei smiled at her with two parts sympathy, one part victory.

Sansa spoiled it.

“Mar, your brother’s gay?”

And the girls dissolved into giggles again. Friendly, this time.

Brienne took the opportunity to scoot from behind the desk and crawl toward the door.

“Who’s gaydar’s worse?” Mel’s question stilled the room. “Brienne or Sansa?”

Brienne froze in a crouch and thought about making a run for it.

Mel tossed back her hair, shook the 8-Ball vigorously, and raised it dramatically aloft before she calmly read, “' _Not today_.'”

“What a let down,” Margaery deadpanned, but her eyes were twinkling.

At Brienne.

Damn it. There really was no escape.

“So wait, if Renly’s dating Loras-“ Sansa began.

Cersei caught on.

“Who is the unfortunate object of your affection?”

 _Is this what girls do for fun?_ Brienne wondered miserably.

“No one,” she squeaked.

Her as-good-as-an-admission was met with an embarrassing and, frankly, obnoxious round of oohs as six girls descended on Brienne like an offensive tackle.

Even Margaery looked curious, and Brienne had thought the girl was on her side.

 _Should have known better. I could never pin Loras down either._  
  
Well, in football maybe. But that was where Brienne’s skill set ended.

“Is it a boy?” Tae asked archly.

Brienne’s burning face must have shown indignation, because Cersei huffed and waved a hand.

“We’ve established that, T. What we haven’t established,” she paused, and her shifting hazel eyes reminded Brienne of hungry lion, “is just how far out of her league he is.”

“The stratosphere,” Jeyne chimed in.

Sansa discreetly kicked her.

“I mean, I’m sure he’s charming,” the brunette hastily recovered.

“She does have a type,” Margaery ceded.

“Since when?” Tae snorted.

“Kyle Hunt, Renly Baratheon . . .” Mel listed.

“She went out with Red Ron before he was Red Ron,” Margaery reminded them.

“He’s kind of a douche, though.”

“Egotistical,” Margaery pointed out, and Mel shrugged, nodding.

 _What does that have to do with anything?_  
  
“Why’s he Red Ron, then?” Sansa wondered, and Tae muttered, “ _Freshman_.”

Brienne scored her bottom lip, disliking this turn of conversation almost as much as the speculation about her non-existent love life.

“Jaime shoved his face into the boards,” Cersei dismissed.

“He matched his hair for a week,” Mel remembered fondly.

“Why would he do that?” Jeyne grimaced and looked to Sansa, as if a lifetime with Arya might help her explain the unfathomable world of senseless violence.

Brienne bristled.

“He’s not as self-centered as people seem to think, okay?”

 _Crap_.

Brienne tensed as she realized what she’d done.

But God must not hate her entirely, because the girls seemed to think she was interrupting their conversation, not complaining about it.

“Who, your crush?” Jeyne scooted eagerly to the side of the bed before glancing back at Sansa for approval.

“She is just the type to lose it over a bad boy,” Cersei’s voice dripped with condescension. “Admit it.”

The truth was, Brienne hadn’t admitted it to _herself_ until sometime in the last five minutes, but now it seemed like Jaime’s smile was burned behind her baby blues.

She was still struggling with it a bit.

“He’s not-“ she winced, wondering how that slipped out. “I mean, I don’t-“

It’s not like he had ever looked at her twice. Beyond, you know, friendly high fives and that frustrating, know-it-all glance he threw at her when his car got confiscated and she wound up as his chauffer.

Appreciative looks in the heat of the game _did not_ translate to anything real world. Or else she was in huge trouble.

“Look, it’s not even a real crush, okay? It’s, you know, a - um - friend crush or something.”

She hoped the small admission would get them off her back. Did predators give up if their victim played dead? She thought so.

“You love him!”

Brienne was not expecting Tae’s giddy conclusion, nor the eager nods of assent from the other girls.

“ _No_ ,” Brienne was fighting to control the fight or flight instinct clawing at her chest. “We’re friends. He’s just—he gets it, and we’re friends. _Sort of_ ,” she backtracked hastily. “Not even that, really.”

“A kindred soul, then?” Mel was fishing, tossing the Magic 8-Ball from hand to hand as she thought. “Someone-“

“Sensitive,” Cersei interrupted with a derisive snort.

“No.”

“Another Renly?” Margaery wondered, twisting a lock of shiny brown hair between her fingers. “Or . . . the anti-Renly?”

“Someone taller,” Sansa guessed, a dreamy innocence in her words. “Strong. A girl wants to feel delicate, you know, and - well-“ she trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Brienne looked down at her hands, wide and freckled, sitting palm up on her thick, jean-clad thighs. She felt less like a girl than ever.

She didn’t have to think twice to know Jaime was shorter than her. Barely.

 _But what guy would take_ that _blow to his ego?_

“Isn’t he just going to break her heart?” Cersei taunted, as one might ask a child, _‘Aren’t you just the darndest thing?’_

Brienne blinked as her hands seemed to blur, then shook her head, frustrated.

The only guys at West Eros High who were taller than her were the Clegane brothers. She’d known that since freshman year, and the facts hadn’t changed in the last twenty minutes.

Besides, it’s not like her height was the thing scaring guys off. She had a pretty long list of features that were getting the job done just fine on their own.

“But _who is he?_ ” Jeyne nearly whined the question.

“He’s no one,” Brienne mumbled, knowing it was hopeless.

“Here’s what we’ve got so far.”

Mel ticked each point off on her fingers.

“Beefy enough that she won’t squish him, animal-magnetism, hot—kind of seems like a given, but we’ll throw that in there anyway—sensitive,” she rolled her eyes in Cersei’s direction, “but kind of a bad boy. And someone she’s around often enough, probably. I think that covers it?”

Margaery nodded. She seemed vaguely amused, as though this were all a game.

Brienne was pretty positive she was losing.

“She’s been hot for two brunettes and a redhead, so unless she’s planning on rounding the list, I’d say physical types are a bust.”

“Oh!“

Realization dawned in Sansa’s eyes, and Brienne felt desperation welling in her.

“You-“

“No!”

That only made it worse.

“Sansa knows something,” Cersei rounded on her, and suddenly it was Sansa looking wide-eyed at Brienne.

 _Please_ , Brienne couldn’t bring herself to mouth.

“How do you know, when Renly wouldn’t open his mouth to Loras about it?”

“For real, even I don’t have this dirt,” Mel scooted closer to the bed, looking up at Sansa expectantly.

“I don’t know anything, really,” Sansa backpedaled.

Cersei leveled a look at her, and Sansa swallowed.

“I swear. I just-“

She looked at Brienne again.

Brienne was sure humiliation was slapped across her face.

“Who, Sansa?” Cersei demanded.

“I don’t know. It’s just-“ she hesitated, then blazed on, “I just figured it was someone on the team.”

The girls exchanged glances, speculative and enthusiastic.

“ _Which_ team?” Jeyne wanted to know.

“Both,” Margaery breathed, turning to look at Brienne with newfound appreciation.

Cersei shrieked. Honest to God, in the middle of the slumber party, shrieked.

“I _knew_ you were a little schemer. Giving us rides, practicing all the time, walking in on-”

She cut herself off, and with effort resumed a more neutral expression.

“As if you needed another unattainable target.”

“That’s perfect,” Margaery smiled, a smug expression Brienne was used to seeing on Loras’s face. “You can double with my brother, and when Renly lets his ego get out of control Jaime can kick his ass.”

She paused a moment to consider.

“Or you can.”

“Jaime’s taste in women is . . . questionable,” Cersei said delicately.

Brienne wondered if that meant he was the one to dump her, all those months ago.

“But even he would never think twice about sleeping with someone so repulsive.”

“Jaime thinks you’re awesome,” Sansa pitched in before Cersei’s blow could do more than sprinkle salt on half-healed scars.

She smiled at Brienne, clearly offering an olive branch.

Brienne was too flabbergasted to care.

Jaime thought _she_ was awesome?

“Since when?” Jeyne was confused.

“Since always. Says Arya.”

“Guys, I’ve got the solution,” Mel announced, sliding back across the carpet until she sat in the center of its sprawling design.

The room paused to watch her.

Mel smiled and flipped back her cherry red hair, clearly enjoying the attention. She let the tension build until her audience grew tired of theatrics, then grabbed the Magic 8-Ball from where it lay on the floor.

“Are Brienne and Jaime soulmates?”

She shook the toy, but before she could read it Cersei had snatched it away.

“Can we please not act like children?”

She tossed the 8-Ball toward the bed, where it bounced off the headboard and disappeared under one of Sansa’s pillows.

“She’s not even part of this slumber party,” Cersei curled gracefully into a chair and smoothed her skirt. “So if we can please get back to what’s important?”

“Who even invited her?” Tae complained. “Sansa’s mom?”

Mel shrugged. Margaery frowned. Sansa opened her mouth, whether to defend Brienne or defend against her, the older girl didn’t know.

“You’re all such bitches.”

Seven heads whipped around.

Arya was standing in the open doorway, arms crossed, still in her hockey pants.

“Go away, Arya,” Sansa hissed.

Cersei sniffed, and Tae mirrored her expression.

“Whatever.”

Arya turned to Brienne, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Jon and Robb are watching the playoffs. It’s way more fun than these gossipy airheads.”

It wasn’t an invitation really, but Brienne gratefully hauled herself off the floor and followed Arya to the entertainment room, where her brothers had snacks and surround sound.

“Thanks,” Brienne muttered two commercial breaks later.

“Duh,” Arya mumbled around a mouthful of queso.

Brienne settled into the cushions and relaxed for the first time since hockey practice.

They were reliving the finer points of the game when Sansa wandered into the kitchen a few hours later.

“Sick of girl time already?”

Robb sounded half amused, half stern as he took in his sister’s outfit—it had changed since Brienne had last seen her, though she couldn’t remember what Sansa had been wearing before.

“We need snacks,” Sansa darted under her brother’s attempt to ruffle her hair, shooting him a dirty look as she pilfered a plate of lemon squares from the fridge.

“Those are for your mom’s Junior League thing,” Jon warned her.

“And now they’re for my friends,” Sansa dismissed.

Robb shook his head, muttering to himself.

Sansa made to leave, and Brienne was startled when the younger girl pressed something into her hand beneath the table. Her eyes flicked down to see her large, freckled fingers cradling the Magic 8-Ball.

Sansa leaned over to murmur low in Brienne’s ear, and then she was breezing back up the stairs to her friends.

Brienne was left blushing, biting her lip against the faint stir of hope.

 _It is known_.


End file.
